


you'd be so nice to come home to

by bonvivants



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 06:31:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9110716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonvivants/pseuds/bonvivants
Summary: Of all the dives and restaurants on this particular strip, this one was Jim’s favorite. A farm boy from the Midwest wouldn’t be the most well-versed in the ways of high-end cuisine, and this was anything but. A little Korean barbecue place tucked somewhere between a photography studio and a place where they sold incense and offer classes on crystal healing could hardly be deemed as fancy.But the grill was hot, and so long as they kept the soju coming, Jim had no complaints.--Jim and Spock have a late night out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> it's ya boy's first star trek fic 
> 
> can be interpreted as either aos or tos so whichever one tickles your fancy i suppose

Of all the dives and restaurants on this particular strip, this one was Jim’s favorite. A farm boy from the Midwest wouldn’t be the most well-versed in the ways of high-end cuisine, and this was anything but. A little Korean barbecue place tucked somewhere between a photography studio and a place where they sold incense and offer classes on crystal healing could hardly be deemed as fancy. 

 

But the grill was hot, and so long as they kept the soju coming, Jim had no complaints. 

 

And of all the nights, this was the one where Spock decided to join him. 

 

“If you’re feeling adventurous,” Jim starts, one hand reaching to refill his shot glass, eyes just halfway between focused and glazed, “I’d start with the spicy cold noodles. If you can take the heat,” he adds cheekily, and downs his fifth shot of the night. 

 

Across from him, Spock looks contemplative, staring down at the menu as if it held answers beyond what he would be having for dinner tonight. Next to him, a teapot and ceramic cup remain untouched, and if Jim hadn’t learned from observation and countless instances of deliberate scrutiny, he’d say Spock had probably forgot about it. 

 

“I will consider it,” he says, and again, if Jim didn’t know any better, he’d think his suggested had been downright rejected. The little quirk of Spock eyebrow, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it, tells otherwise. 

 

When he puts the menu down, Jim watches as Spock reaches for the handle of the pot, and with thin, nimble fingers, holds the lid in place as he pours into his cup, the steam just close enough to fog his glasses. 

 

Jim snorts and hides his grin behind the shot glass. Spock sets the teapot down, reaches for his glasses and wipes them off with the little microfiber cloth secretly tucked away in his breast pocket. Jim continues to observe (as he does), and notes something strangely delicate in every move, suddenly feeling like this was some invasion of the other’s privacy. Spock without his glasses isn’t new, Jim has seen him without them plenty of times. Those mornings when he spends the night and Jim finds him in the kitchen with a mug and his tablet, reading the news with a slight furrow in his brow, are ingrained in his memory forever.

 

He still looks away, lips to his shot glass under the pretense that there might still be something in there. 

 

The restaurant is mostly empty at this time of night, only a few patrons besides themselves scattered around the dining room, too far from where they’re sat to be a problem. The table Jim had kindly requested that they’d be seated at placed them right below the bright neon “open” sign that flickered every so often, the slight buzzing sound not quite enough to distract him from the gnawing feeling deep in his gut. 

 

He sets his glass down, hands folded over the table, the one leg he tucked underneath him providing some leverage for him to lean forward. 

 

He still doesn’t look ahead. 

 

“Spock.” 

 

At the sound of his name, the other turns his attention to the nervous Jim across from him, that quirk of his eyebrow back again, making it clear where all of his attention was. “Jim.” 

 

Jim falters for a moment. (He has good reason.) 

 

“I think we should move in together.” 

 

He speaks fast, but clear and pronounced enough to have been heard. There’s no mistake in what he’s just said, no room for misinterpretations or misunderstanding--especially when the person sitting across from him is Spock, who’s looking back with an expression that is as staunch as it is unreadable. 

 

The restaurant is dead quiet. Somehow, without Jim noticing, the other patrons had paid their bill and gone, leaving him and Spock alone on the main floor, with nothing but the muffled sounds of the kitchen behind the doors to fill up the empty silence. He’s aware, now more than ever, of what he’s just asked. He’s not sure how much time has passed since. Probably a second or two, but in his mind, it feels like ages. 

 

When Spock opens his mouth to speak (finally), Jim feels every hair at the back of his neck stand, every nerve in his body so fraught he clenches his fists under the table. ‘ _ There’s no reason to be so worried _ ,’ he tries to tell himself. ‘ _ The worst he could say is-- _ ’ 

 

“Yes.” 

 

Jim opens his eyes. He’s not entirely sure when he closed them. “What was that?” 

 

Spock’s face betrays nothing, the very image of calm and collected, but Jim doesn’t miss the way his hands fold and unfold on the tabletop, almost as if he were... Fidgeting? That’s right, Spock was  _ fidgeting _ . 

 

“I was merely agreeing with you,” he says, eyes cast down at the table. He looked pensive, as if he were taking a business-like approach to the situation, which all things considered was not completely unlike him. “I have noticed the times I’ve spent in your apartment rather than mine, so often that I now leave some of my belongings there.” 

There’s no hesitation in his voice, as if he had gone over this on his own before, considered the possibility and counted it as a solution. This wasn’t an impulsive decision on his part. “It only seems logical that we live together, should this continue.” 

 

When he looks up again, Jim doesn’t miss the frailty in his eyes. It’s something he’s seen before but still catches him off guard, unmasked in this moment, different from all the other instances of vulnerability they had shared. 

 

And it’s only then that the gravity of the situation hits, and Jim feels the weight and worry that this had put on him promptly lift off his shoulders. Spock said  _ yes  _ (in so many words) and shows no sign of taking it back. The two sit across from each other at the cramped table by the window, the harsh red glow of the neon sign framing Spock’s face in a way that makes him look strangely delicate. His glasses are neatly folded on the table, next to the ceramic teacup, emptied. 

 

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Jim says, reaching into his shirt pocket, grinning wide and unabashed, “because I already made you a key.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> challenge me to a duel @ hesitantvulcan on tumble


End file.
